A Pocket Full of Drabbles
by Erithe
Summary: Little things, mostly floofy, written as a continuation, side story, or small bit or piece of the Pocketful of Stars story - in no particular temporal order. Any seriously dark drabbles will get their own story with a different rating.
1. Chapter 1

_Grown-ups don't look like grown-ups on the inside either._  
_ Outside, they're big and thoughtless and they always_  
_know what they're doing. Inside, they look just like they_  
_ always have. Like they did when they were your age._  
_ Truth is, there aren't any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole_  
_ wide world._ ~ Neil Gaiman, _The Ocean at the End of the Lane_

_ ._

* * *

.

The candle was burning down on his desk. He noticed, though the letter he'd been writing to his sister, Mia, had been sitting on his desk for an hour, untouched. He got up and paced the room, one side to the other. Above him, up the newly built stairs and beneath the newly repaired roof, there were footsteps and the sound of hushed voices. Now and then, he'd hear a particular voice make a pained sound or curse, very loudly, and he winced.

Outside the window slit, the sun had set hours before and he could see the torches lit in the camp below, and though he'd promised himself he would _not pace_, he paced. A knock on the door provided a welcome distraction, and he crossed the room to let Dorian in. The mage had ridden through the gate not an hour before, and still looked windblown and disheveled. They shook hands, and then looked up involuntarily as a spate of virulent Elven cursing burst forth above their heads.

"Ah," the Tevinter mage said. "I see I've arrived with time to spare."

"Maker's breath," Cullen groaned, making another turn around the room. "I thought searching for her after Corypheus fell was bad. This is entirely worse."

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Dorian answered, only to be interrupted as one of the voices above them called for another towel and would everyone _please give them room_. The two men paled and looked at one another. "I hate to ask this, but do you think you should go up there?"

"She threw me out," Cullen admitted, his expression rueful. "Apparently I reek of fear."

"Well, that _is _problematic, though completely understandable," the mage admitted, wincing as another cry echoed down the stairs.

"I need a drink," Cullen exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's been hours now."

"Varric's on his way up," Dorian assured him. To the other side of the room, the door opened and Varric came in, followed by Cassandra. The dwarf carried a bottle of wine in each arm.

"Is it over yet?" Varric asked, blinking when Cullen relieved him of one of the bottles, uncorking it before tilting the glass directly to his mouth. "I take it that's a no."

"She is very strong," Cassandra said, resting her hand on Cullen's shoulder. "You should not be so worried, Cullen."

"I do not believe that is an option," he answered, shooting her a look and taking another drink. "I don't think I could bear it if anything …" he stopped speaking abruptly and sighed.

"Shall I go see how things are going?" The Seeker asked.

"Please." He sighed and took another drink, moving to stare out the window, praying once more beneath his breath. "_Though all before me is shadow, Yet shall the Maker be my guide …_"

"Cullen," Cassandra's voice from the stair had him spinning on his heel. "You should come upstairs now."

Dorian caught the wine bottle as the Commander took to the stairs, taking them three at a time until he had reached the upper floor. The healers, Raelyn and Orila, had their backs to him, but Melori caught a glimpse of his pale face between them and reached out a hand. She was walking the room as he had been, back and forth, back and forth, so he joined her, their hands linked tight together. He slid his other arm around her back, bracing her as she walked. Her bright hair was sticking to her forehead, and her face was flushed. She looked utterly exhausted.

He wanted so badly to help in some way, but there was little he could do beyond uttering encouragement and hoping his hand survived the encounter. The lights were glimmering along the horizon outside the windows when a thin, warbling cry filled the room, and Melori went limp against the mattress while the other women bustled about around them.

"You did it," he whispered, wiping her face with a damp cloth. He was smiling he realized suddenly, lips curving when she opened her eyes to look up at him. Melori smiled back and he kissed her, lingering a little. He pulled pillows over to prop her up, his fingers twining into her hair.

"_Na'enansel_," Orila smiled, bringing the small bundle of waving arms and loud wails across the room to lay in Melori's arms. Cullen stared at the tiny hands and feet, the small face that relaxed when held against her mother's heart. His breath seemed lodged in his throat and he found himself on the verge of tears.

"She's … so small," he whispered, reaching out a tentative finger and tracing along the curve of the tiny, silky soft cheek. "I hadn't realized she'd be so small."

"She certainly felt bigger," Melori laughed, entranced by the tuft of reddish gold curls on the top of the infant's head. Leaning forward, she laid a kiss on the bright curls, pausing as she saw the how the tip of one tiny ear tilted back into a small, but noticeable point. "Well, she takes after me a bit, I think."

"I think she's beautiful," he said, clearing his throat and flushing a little.

Melori glanced up at him, "You should hold her."

"Oh," he stared at the tiny, delicate child ... _his child_ ... and made an incoherent sound. "What if I drop her?"

"Highly unlikely, Commander," Orila laughed. "Hold your arms like this ... yes. Exactly. Now ... there. Just make sure you keep your hand behind her head. There you go."

His heart was beating very hard, and he didn't notice how they were all staring at him, all but Melori. Even Cassandra had an odd, almost bewitched expression on her face. He was too busy holding that tiny, too light bundle in his arms and feeling with sudden, overwhelming panic that he would never be strong enough to keep her safe. He watched as the tiny mouth stretched into an impossibly huge yawn and thought his heart would break in his chest.

"Love at first sight," Raelyn mused. "Why don't you introduce her to the others while we take care of the rest, Commander?"

"Are you sure?" He asked, looking to Melori, who smiled sleepily and nodded.

"I'm not going anywhere for a little bit," she murmured.

He walked down the stairs very slowly, turning at the landing and finding Dorian at the bottom looking uncharacteristically solemn. Behind him sat Varric, Bull, the Inquisitor, Josephine, and Illiam, all of them leaning forward for a better look. Blackwall had built the cradle that stood in the corner, but had not stayed. Cullen paused next to Dorian, who reached out a tentative finger toward one of the little hands and found it clasped quite tightly. His way his mustache trembled on the edge of a smile as his eyes lit up and he, for once, said nothing at all.

"That hair!" Josephine laughed in delight. "I'll have to order ribbons for her."

"She's beautiful, Cullen," The Inquisitor said. "What will you call her?"

"Melori wanted to call her Caro, if she was a girl," he answered, looking back down at the tiny face. "We'll have to decide on the rest soon."

"Caro," Varric smiled. "I remember her. That lanky Chantry scholar who used to run with the Librarian in Haven. It's a good name."

"What do you think, Bull?" The Inquisitor asked, looking over her shoulder to where Bull was leaning against the wall, a strange look on his face.

"I thought she'd be bigger," he answered, then, surprisingly, flushed. "She'd fit in my hands!"

"Do ... you want to hold her?" Cullen asked, surprising himself. He wasn't sure how he felt about handing his child to another person's care, but he trusted these people with his life, they'd never harm his daughter.

"You'd let me?" Bull asked, shocked, but he held out his hands with their rough calluses and scars. "I would love to."

She looked even smaller in the Qunari's huge hands, but he held her so gently - as though she were made of glass - and watched with fascination as she squinted and opened her mouth, a little fist waving in the air. "She looks like Ribbons," he said after a moment. "I thought elf-blooded kids didn't look like their elf parents?"

"Sometimes there a little hints," Josephine answered as he passed the baby delicately to her waiting arms. She knew what she was doing with infants, they found, holding Caro with a practiced, fearless hand and holding her close, smiling and humming a little. "I love babies."

And, eventually, arm to arm and person to person, Dorian finally had her in his arms, and Cullen had a feeling they would never get her back. The Tevinter mage kissed the babies forehead and whispered things in Tevene as he rocked her gently, chuckling as she gripped his finger again. "Uncle Dorian is going to show you so many things," he promised. "Just you wait."


	2. Chapter 2

_When we love, we always strive to become better than we are.  
When we strive to become better than we are,  
everything around us becomes better too.  
_ ~ Paulo Coelho, _The Alchemist_

.

* * *

Warm and soft, she's heavier than she looks, but still lighter than his sword and shield. She nestles against his chest, fists curled against rounded cheeks. He can't quite get over the perfection of her fingers or the tiny point to her ears. When she opens her eyes, he knows they will be large and blue going to green, and all he can see when he studies her face is her mother.

He walks the loft above his office, past the newly built stairs and floor, bare feet on a throw rug, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest. Knowing that you'll love them doesn't prepare you for what it _feels_ like – the terror and the joy blending together until it's difficult to breathe. But when he holds her, singing the Chant of Light beneath his breath, all he feels is peace.

Melori stirs in the bed, her long hair scattered across the pillow where it has escaped the braid. They both have too many nightmares – often of the same events – so he tries to let her sleep when he cannot. It wasn't that the baby was fussy or even needed changing. He liked the feel of her in his arms; the steady weight and warmth of his daughter held against his unarmored chest in those early mornings when the memory of lyrium sings him awake with demons and the memory of fallen friends.

Almost every morning, somewhere before dawn, he would wake and lift her from the cradle, delighted by the way her lips purse and press together and how her lashes curl against her cheeks. Tonight she has a serious expression, pale brows tugging together above her tiny nose, and he wonders if infants dream. He hopes not, or, if they do, it is some protected and safe place in the Fade.

"Cullen?"

He looks up to find Melori awake and blinking sleepily, trying to sort out her tangled curls with her fingers. "Is everything all right?"

"I wanted to hold her," he admits, stepping across the floor to settle down beside her on the bed. "She's still asleep."

"Small blessings," she laughs, and their eyes meet and tangle over the baby's head. He remembers how he'd afraid he'd been the night Caro was born and leans forward to press a kiss to her mouth, startled as always by the soft slide of her lips against his and the way she always sighs, as though melting into him. The baby squirms against his arm as they break apart and Melori's eyes move to Caro's face, lingering there.

"I can't quite believe she's real," She whispers, tucking herself in along his right side and pulling the blankets up around them.

"Not even when she's yelling to the ceiling because she's hungry?" he asks, chuckling.

"Especially then," Melori laughs. "Dorian holds her high and encourages her to cry louder. He says she'll be a famous singer someday."

"I'm not sure I appreciate him giving her ideas," Cullen mutters, smiling as Caro yawns again. "Though I suspect I'll have to become accustomed to it. He's remarkably fond of her."

"I'm glad. It's rather like having a brother to be her uncle," Melori says, still leaning against his side. "I have brothers, but I've never met them … and they're Dalish."

"They wouldn't approve, would they?" He says, glancing at her. "I have a brother and two sisters, you know. They'll love you both."

"We should visit them." She smiles, "I'd like to meet Mia, the one you say writes to you all the time?"

"I've thought, if we were to leave Skyhold in the future, we could settle near Honnleath. We'd be nearer to them, yet not so far we could not return here when we wished."

"I've never been to Honnleath," Melori thinks about it, leaning her chin against his arm. "What would we do there?"

"There's a castle not far from the village," he muses, leaning his head back against the headboard.. "About the size of the fortress in Crestwood. I thought we could settle there, host the forces here for the summer training, and ... well, raise a family."

"A family?"

"Unless ... if you don't wish to have more children ..." he says, looking back down at her. "I would never ... I mean..."

"No! Cullen," she laughs and leans up to kiss him again. "It's not that. I just ... I never imagined it. That's all. Just having the two of you is ... I'm still amazed by my luck."

The sun rises outside, sending rays across the tower as they curl together, and he thinks about how it might have been and thanks Andraste for her grace.

.

* * *

NOTE: _I like to think Cullen is finding some measure of peace once he's with whoever he ends up with after DAI or the events in PFOS with Melori. Though, knowing Bioware, he's going to end up in DA4 with more angst than he had going into DAI. *sighs*_


	3. Chapter 3

NOTE:_ A sad little drabble written in response to a comment on AO3.  
_

* * *

_._

_... Wash the sorrow from off my skin  
And show me how to be whole again_

_'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass_  
_Hardly anything there for you to see ..._

~Linkin Park, _Castle of Glass_

_._

* * *

.

It was raining and dark, the wet pouring down in drifts and spurts. He walked along on feet without shoes, his staff over one shoulder, his head gleaming in the rain. The woods here was deep and full of sound, frogs and crickets chirping out their songs, silent only when he passed too near. A wolf through the woods on softly padding feet. Somewhere down the path, on the edge of the forest, a light flickered in the sodden night, and he thought to take shelter with whoever had built it, hoping for warmth and, maybe, a little company.

It was the company, more than anything, he needed.

A canvas was pitched across the top of an old ruin, stretching from column to column. To one side a banner of the Inquisition was flapping and he paused just on the edge of the wood, in the cover of the shadows there. He stood in the rain, let it slide over his ears and down the curve of his neck, listening with a caught breath to the sound of a familiar voice, humming tunelessly into the night. His eyes shut. This was the company he could not seek. The friends he had forsaken.

Still, he could not help but creep closer on silent feet, to find a column and lean against it, shrouded in shadow and the fabric of the Fade. So near he could almost touch them, could feel the warmth of the fire while protected from the rain beneath the corner of their tarp. Sense told him not to stay, but desire drove him now, pulled him into the embrace of familiarity and longing. He could admit, in this moment, that he had broken himself to leave them - had left something of himself behind. It ached like an open wound, even now as he watched from his hiding place.

* * *

The rain was lulling her to sleep, thudding down on the canvas above her head and dripping to the ground on all sides. At this time of night, just off the coast of Lake Calenhad, the world was full of sound and shadow, but it was difficult to hear over the rain. Dorian was already asleep on his cot on the other side of the fire, and Cullen was at the lower camp, seeing to the horses with Illiam. The soldiers who had come along to escort the Commander, his wife, and his child safely to his family in South Reach were camped closer to the road, though she could sometimes hear them laughing in the dark and the rain.

Melori spread her fingers to lift the fire higher, hoping the damp wasn't bothering the baby too much. Caro was finally sleeping through the night, now that she'd discovered the delight of playing with Daddy till she was completely worn out each evening. The two of them were sleeping better, Melori thought, holding her daughter close and watching her lips purse as she nursed, chubby fingers pressed tight against her mother's chest. It was an odd feeling, even now, to look at her and realize who she was ... whose she was.

"_Emm'asha, da'vhenan_," Melori whispered, brushing a finger across the so-soft cheek, the little pointed ear tip. "A long, long time ago, there were cities in this world that floated high above the trees. My people, your ancestors, lived there. I was told by a wise old wolf that it was a lovely place, full of magic and dreams. Someday, perhaps we'll see some remnant of it in the forest, hmm? Would you go with me to see it, I wonder ..."

* * *

The wise old wolf watched the elf and her child, head resting against the stone. He wondered how their paths had crossed again, if it had been happenstance or his own wayward heart, drawing him back to the side of a friend. His heart, he thought, should know better by now. His friend would likely hate him before he was done, especially now. He had little left to lose, but his friend? He stared across the space between them, feeling as though it were an impassable abyss. Her entire world would was on the cusp of irrevocable change at his hands.

The soft spoken elven lullaby drifted across the fire toward him and he remembered, with a rueful smile that Melori could not sing. Instead, she whispered the words as one would poetry, leaning back against her pack as the rain accompanied her. He listened, too, taking what comfort he could, pretending she knew he was there, that he was simply a little distance from the fire enjoying the air. It almost worked.

Footsteps came up the path and the Commander's voice drifted nearer. Reluctantly, Solas stood and stepped back into the rain, leaning a little more heavily on his staff than usual as he walked away.


End file.
